


Bank Shot

by alettepegasus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Injury, T for language and violence, Whump, i can make a basketball pun. as a treat, tagged both & and / because it really could be either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29621094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alettepegasus/pseuds/alettepegasus
Summary: Fareeha stops by a bank on her day off. It is not as relaxing as one might hope.Or,Fareeha tries to stop a bank robbery, gets shot, and Angela is stressed.
Relationships: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari & Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	Bank Shot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wicked42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked42/gifts).



> What's up, I've been playing too much Overwatch and I like these two fools.
> 
> Thanks to [Wicked42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked42/pseuds/Wicked42) for being a fabulous beta--and also for jump-jetting out of combat to save my Mercy bacon, LOL. Check out her much longer ~~and much better written~~ cage fighter / resident doctor AU with these two!

_Heroes never die._

Well, that was a big fat lie. Heroes died all the time. Sometimes, if they were very, very lucky, the Valkyrie was there to save them from the great unknown and wrench them back into existence. Whether she was doing them a favor or not remained unclear. 

Today, though, the Valkyrie wasn’t here. Today, it was just Angela. Just Angela, standing outside a bank, fingers trembling in a grip so tight she thought the steel of her caduceus staff might actually be left with indentations. Just Angela, listening to labored breathing over her intercom as tears of anger and powerlessness pricked at her eyes. 

Just Angela, hoping and praying that today was not the day that she would listen to Fareeha Amari die.

* * *

_This_ , Fareeha thought to herself as she sat slumped against a wall, blood seeping through the fingers she held pressed to her side, _was really not how I envisioned this morning going._

Meeting Angela for breakfast. Taking a walk through the city park. Playing video games with Hana and Lena. Any of these would have been a _far_ better way to start her week off from Overwatch duties. 

But no, someone just _had_ to rob a bank. And she, passing by on the way to her breakfast date, just _had_ to go investigate. 

Sometimes she just wanted to strangle her overdeveloped sense of justice. She could be eating pancakes right now, but _no_.

It had only taken her a split second to make the decision. Fareeha had closed her eyes, sighed, and switched on her comm implant as she strode toward the bank doors. 

“Angela - I might be a little late. Something looks fishy at the bank on the corner of 3rd and 7th.” Then, as an afterthought: “Hope you still keep your comm open.”

That question had been answered with a short string of quiet German curses. “Fareeha, please, let the local law enforcement handle it. You’re not equipped for combat--”

“Feel free to call them,” Fareeha had whispered, entering the building.

That was, of course, when it all went to hell.

Sometimes she hated being right.

She didn’t make it ten feet past the entryway before the two men she’d been following suddenly pulled weapons and started shouting. She was close and quick enough to disarm the first, pulling the pistol from his hand and sending him reeling with a cross to the jaw, but the second--

\--well. 

It was an old bank, one with a big lobby, stone floors, high ceilings. An echo chamber. The kind of place would amplify the sound of a gunshot into something incredibly, painfully loud. 

For a moment, all Fareeha registered was the earsplitting _bang_ that seemed on the verge of shattering her eardrums.

The pain in her side came immediately after. 

Angela was shouting in her ear. Even with all the times she’d been shot (too many), the initial shock was still enough to throw her off balance--both physically and mentally _._

Fareeha stumbled, just long enough for the robber she’d disarmed a moment ago to send her to the ground with a hit across her left temple, and things went… hazy for a while. 

Now, slowly, the world was starting to come back into focus. She pressed her hand harder into her side, trying to stem the flow of blood, and couldn’t keep a pained groan from slipping out.

“...reeha. Fareeha, can you hear me? Fareeha!”

“Mmf… ow.”

There was a heavy, shaky sigh of relief on the other side of the comm. 

“ _Gott sei Dank…_ the police are here, Fareeha. We can’t come in without them threatening to kill hostages.”

Fareeha glanced around the room. All but one of the teller windows had been vacated, and one of the robbers stood in front of it, waving his gun at the girl behind the counter as she frantically shoved stacks of bills into a duffel bag. She noted, with some pride, a large, purpling bruise forming along his jaw. Her knuckles ached with the matching bruise. 

On the left side of the massive space, a small number of unfortunate citizens had been corralled to the sitting area. The other robber, a short, angry looking man with a beard, was standing over them, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. 

A caged lion with a gun. 

She stared at the weapon, anger smouldering inside her that she hadn’t been _faster._

Angela was still talking. “Are you being watched? Try to find some way to say ‘yes’ if you are.”

“Yeah--” she started, voice rasping a bit and then catching in her throat with a cough. A metallic taste filled her mouth, and she dimly thought, _not good,_ “--really should’ve just gone for pancakes this morning.”

“Yes, you should have,” The pacing robber--Beardy, she decided to call him--said, rounding on her as soon as she started to speak. He was jumpy, almost manic in a way that seemed excessive for adrenaline alone. Probably on something. 

“Now shut up,” Beardy continued, aiming the pistol at her uninjured side, finger still curled around the trigger. “Before I give you a matching set.”

Her anger reached a simmering boil. She was going to _feed_ him that gun.

Pain lanced through the bullet hole in her side, and her eyes squeezed shut as she pressed her head back against the wall to ride out the wave.

She was still going to feed him that gun, just… in a minute. Maybe with a nice coating of good Canadian maple syrup. Heh, revenge really would be _sweet_ then.

Her dad always had the best maple syrup, tapped right from the trees up by his cabin… they’d make candy when she was little, sometimes, just by dripping thick syrup right into a snow bank and rolling it up on a popsicle stick.

_Focus,_ she heard Angela’s voice saying in her mind. Or was it in her ear?

Thoughts wandering. Right. Not a good sign. 

“They just need a diversion,” Angela said. Definitely in her ear. “If you can get their attention away from the hostages, we can get in there.” Angela’s voice was shaking slightly, and Fareeha felt the overwhelming urge to reassure her. 

Fareeha turned toward the robbers and, obedient as ever, said, “Hey, you. Yeah, you; the ugly one.” Then, when Beardy turned to her with a furious expression, supplied a lazy, bloodstained smile: “Wow, I was really expecting more hesitation there.”

Beardy closed the distance between them in two angry strides and backhanded her across the mouth. Stars sparked across her vision and she slowly pulled herself upright, spitting a fresh glob of blood onto the floor as the mother of all headaches blossomed behind her eyes. 

“Any last words?” He was aiming the gun at her chest now, and from the looks of things he might actually be angry enough to do it. 

Angela was shouting in her ear again. She couldn’t decipher all of it, but manage to pick out _what are you doing_ and _are you crazy_ and, honestly? Fareeha wasn’t quite sure.

_Sorry, Angela._

“Yeah. Let two of the hostages go.” 

He laughed, short and loud. “And why the hell would I do that?”

“‘Cause I’m a cop.” Beardy’s eyes narrowed, finger tightening on the trigger. At least Fareeha was fairly sure that’s what happened. Her vision was turning him from one person into somewhere between two and three, and all of them were fuzzy. 

_“Fareeha, what are you doing?”_ Angela sounded calmer, but it was slow, intentional sort of calm where you’ve pushed through a solid wall of panic and come out the other side.

_Don’t worry,_ she thought, willing the words to Angela. _I have a plan._

It might not be a _great_ plan, but it was, well. Something. That hopefully wouldn’t kill her.

“I’m a cop,” she repeated, “so I’m worth a lot more as a hostage than these civilians. Let a couple of them go; it’ll make you look better to the public.”

“Prove it,” he challenged.

“Check my boot.” he looked skeptical, but edged toward where Fareeha’s legs stretched out onto the floor, pulling a thin, metal cylinder from her leather boot. He turned it over in his hands.

“The hell is this?”

“A pen,” Fareeha said, closing her eyes and tensing against another wave of pain from the wound in her side. She could feel her own grip pressed against her side weakening, more blood seeping past her hand to soak her clothes and collect on the floor.

“A damn _pen?”_

“They only give them to detectives,” she ground out. “You’ll see. Press the button at the end.”

For a moment, doubt flashed through Fareeha’s mind. In the end, though--there really was no other choice.

Still. This was going to hurt. 

As if in slow motion, the goon’s thumb moved over the button-shaped end of the device. 

_I hope you’re ready, Angela, because this is the biggest distraction you’re going to get._

Click.

BOOM!

The last thing Fareeha felt was a shock wave blasting her forcefully against the wall, slamming her head back and feeling bones crack in her chest - then, blessedly, darkness.

* * *

Light.

Sirens.

A warm, familiar glow, and the comforting sound of German curses and prayers being uttered fast enough that they almost blended together. Angela. Angela was there, the familiar energy of her caduceus staff knitting together broken bone and stabilizing torn tissue. 

Fareeha’s eyes closed again, this time with a faint smile on her lips.

* * *

_Heroes never die,_ they say. 

Well, that was a big fat lie. One of these days, Angela was going to _kill_ Fareeha. 

Assuming, of course, that Fareeha didn’t beat her to it. 

Right now, Fareeha lay stretched out on the stark white sheets of the Overwatch med bay, color slowly returning to her cheeks as Angela’s nanites did their work. The ashen color of Fareeha’s normally warm, tan skin was a sight restricted to the battlefield… until today. Now, Angela had a fresh memory to add to the reel that haunted her dreams. 

But Fareeha was healing, now, and warmth was slowly returning to the hand Angela held in her own. The steady beat of Fareeha’s pulse brought with it a grounding sense of reassurance. 

A soft groan came from the bed, and Angela snapped her attention toward her face. Fareeha’s brow knit together, eyes slowly opening to squint at the dim light. 

“...gela?”

“I’m here,” she said, squeezing her friend’s hand a bit tighter. Fareeha’s brow smoothed, eyes closing, and for a moment Angela thought she had fallen back asleep.

“Did it work?” Fareeha asked, voice rusty. 

In an instant, relief and concern changed to annoyance.“Did it-- _that’s_ the first thing you say? How about ‘Angela, I’m so sorry I bailed on breakfast and got shot on my first day off, thank you for saving my life?’”

“I always knew you would.”

The complete, calm assurance with which Fareeha said those words shut down Angela’s rant as quickly as it began. She sank back down to the chair, warmth and worry filling her in equal measure. Fareeha might have been confident in Angela’s ability to save her, but Angela… Angela was haunted by the constant concern that one day she wouldn’t be there, one day she would be too slow, one day she would see Fareeha’s ashen face and be unable to bring it back to life. Her sly grin, her terrible jokes, her boisterous, joyful laugh upon breaking another training record--gone forever.

Angela took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts from her mind.

“...did it work, though?”

Angela rolled her eyes. “Yes, _Raketenhirn._ Your brilliant plan to turn yourself into jelly with one of your concussive blast shells did, in fact, send the moron holding it through one of the bank windows.”

Fareeha laughed, which turned into a cough, which turned into a pained groan as she tried to curl toward her injured side. The nanites were still working - internal injuries were a complicated thing, and taking a concussive blast at close range, against a wall, certainly hadn’t helped. A cool hand smoothed loose hair from her forehead, soothing her as she slowly relaxed back into the bed.

“Do you need anything?” Angela asked, checking the IV providing pain medication before returning to her side.

Fareeha groaned. “A real day off.”

That drew a sympathetic laugh. “I agree.” 

“...and pancakes.”

Angela’s laugh turned incredulous. “Tell you what - if you can figure out how not to get shot during the rest of our first leave in years, I’ll _make_ you pancakes.”

Her eyes were closed, but Fareeha smiled.

“Deal.” 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Gott sei Dank_ \- Thank God
> 
>  _Raketenhirn_ \- I don't know if this is a legit word/insult, but its literal translation is “rocket brain” lol
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Let me know if you enjoyed it! :D


End file.
